


the way you move ain't fair

by leiascully



Series: New York AU [7]
Category: Battlestar Galactica (2003)
Genre: Alternate Universe, F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2009-10-11
Updated: 2009-10-11
Packaged: 2017-10-03 03:47:26
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,601
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13853
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/leiascully/pseuds/leiascully
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Whatever she says next will change the course of his days.</p>
            </blockquote>





	the way you move ain't fair

**Author's Note:**

> Timeline: NY AU  
> A/N: Title is from Train's "Hey Soul Sister".  
> Disclaimer: _Battlestar Galactica_ and all related characters belong to Ronald Moore, NBC Universal, Sci-Fi Channel, and Sky One. No infringement is intended and no profit is made from this.

The rain is soft, and the breeze that blows in the open window is almost warm. Lee holds his breath as if his life depends on it until his vision is fuzzy around the edges and he's seeing flecks of light. Whatever she says next will change the course of his days; already his history is bending around her gravity, and now he finds out whether he is pulled in or flung away.

"Come on," Kara says at last. She gets up without looking at him, and opens the door to the studio. She is lucky to have found this place: her apartment is connected to the unit next door, where all the walls have been knocked down to leave a single large room with a high ceiling. The floor is rumpled with drop cloths and littered with brushes and buckets of paint and half-finished clay sculptures on large wooden blocks. The walls are covered with canvases and murals. A large mandala, blue and red and yellow, glows in the stormy light.

Without speaking she pulls her dress over her head and drops it on the floor, standing in front of him in jeans and her bra.

"Kara..."

"I'm not letting go," she says.

"You're married," he says. "I should leave." But the solid, new-familiar shape of her body pulls him like a magnet. She is shaped like any other pretty woman, but somehow she's different: even as he tries to leave, he is drawn to her. He can see the muscles of her stomach tensing.

She laughs hollowly. "There are more reasons than geography that we live apart. We can't live together. At least, I can't live with him. I love Sam. I hate Sam. It's hell to be with someone who loves you unconditionally. Or maybe it's just hell for me, and I make it hell for him."

"Are you gonna make it hell for me?" Lee asks, stepping closer. He meant to move away, but his hands are on her waist now, and he is tired of being responsible: he has lived a reasonable life and he can't surrender this adventure. Her arms twine around his neck. He can feel her breath on his mouth.

"Probably," she says.

"Should we really do this?" he asks.

"No," she says, and pulls his head down for a hard kiss. "Do you want to stop?"

"No." No, never, his body and his mind are both yearning for her like he'll die if he can't have her.

"Then we'll fuck it up and let God sort it out," she says fiercely. "God knows I've done that enough in my life." She kisses him again and he's gone, caution to the winds.

"Gonna love me and hate me?" he asks, running his hands over her back and her ribs as she kisses his neck. Her skin is so warm and so soft that he's not sure he'll be able to stop, to get to the rest of it. He wants to own her like he's never wanted a woman before; he wants her hands on him; he wants her over him, claiming him. He wants _everything_ and it's terrifying. If she's going to hate him, so be it: at least he'll have this. "Promise, Starbuck?" The nickname just feels right.

"You're my Apollo," she says, "god of light and music and medicine. You're supposed to heal everything."

"Maybe I'm just here to burn you up," he says, breathing hard. His slacks are tight across his thighs. His hips strain toward her; his cock aches and there'll be no relief until he's inside her. "Burn us both up." He hesitates, his mouth inches from hers, her face too close to focus on.

"What are you waiting for?" she whispers.

"For the stars," he says.

"Ah," she says, slipping neatly out of his arms. There's mischief in her eyes. "Hold on." She strides across the room, looking like she's floating over the crumpled dropcloths, and snaps off the light.

The ceiling is dappled with glow-in-the-dark stars. He laughs helplessly, spreading his arms wide. "What..."

"Sam did it," she said. "Before he left. It was...a joke between us."

"Yeah," Lee says. He's still leaning toward her across the room, but that cool breeze seems to have gotten colder. It's humid too, with the window open, and it puts the chill all the way into his bones. Kara comes back across the room, her jeans slipping down her hips and her breasts bouncing out of her bra.

"It's different with you," she says urgently. "The stars. They're real. It's like I remember, but I don't remember, it never happened, but it's real. And you, when you, when I saw you, it felt..."

"I know," he says, and crushes his mouth against hers. Her hands are tearing at his buttons and he's shoving her jeans down her hips with only the button undone, the waistband tight over her hips for a moment and then sliding down her thighs. He pushes her underwear down as she rips at his tie and pops a button off his shirt.

"Fuck it," she says, "take those off," and undoes her own bra as he struggles out of his clothing. She kicks it all into a heap on the floor on top of her dress, grabs his forearms, and drags him down onto it. He uses the momentum to pull her on top of him. There are buttons under his head and the dropcloth scratches where their pile of clothing doesn't reach, but at least there's a little padding under his back as she leans down over him. She kisses him like it's a resuscitation and she's trying to start his heart and he isn't sure it was ever beating before.

"I need you," he says, his voice rough and strange to his own ears, and she shifts back and down and slides down over him like they've been lovers for years instead of one night. He groans with relief. "Oh, fuck yes."

"Yeah," she says, her eyes narrowed but bright. "God, yeah."

She is hot and wet and exactly what he needed, and for long minutes all he can do is buck into her as she rolls her hips down onto him. He is touching her everywhere he can, running his hands down her back and her arms as she supports herself, feeling the exertion in the muscles underneath her smooth skin as her inner muscles clench around his cock. He's going to come too fast if she keeps up this way; he slides his fingers between them, squeezing her ass with his other hand as he reaches for the place that makes her back arch. She gasps and bites her lip, her head thrown back and her hair like a corona around her head. Her skin is flushed and she's so goddamn gorgeous and real that if he doesn't watch out, he's going to lose it just looking at her. He needs to think about something else. Planes are the first thing that comes to mind, but somehow that's charged too: the thrust of machinery through the air, the mile-high club, enclosed spaces. He has to talk to her instead, engage on another level that isn't all about the way she feels over him, around him, her blazing skin pressed to his.

"Seeing stars yet?" he jokes, short of breath.

She looks down at him, her breasts loose above his chest, just begging for him to cup them in his hands. "Everywhere," she says. His hips jolt involuntarily at the passion in her tone. He hits the right spot, apparently, because she moans his name and shifts her hips and suddenly she's riding him like both their lives depend on it, looking straight into his eyes with a gaze so intense he wouldn't be surprised if she can see into the locked places in his mind, see through to the stars he can't quite remember so that she can tell him why this all means so goddamn much, why she's the best thing he's ever felt despite the number of women he's slept with.

Kara moans his name again and he can feel her tightening around him, close to the edge. He strokes her desperately, thinking about planes again, about stars, about re-entry and the risk of catching fire, of footage he's seen of space shuttles encased in flame and landing whole and sound, and he can't bear it any longer, he's on fire, but she's shaking above him and around him and calling him on and god, he can't help but answer her call.

Afterwards they lie in the pile of clothes, catching their breath. Her cheek is pressed to his chest and her fingers curl over his hip. He strokes her shoulder idly.

"I guess we're in it now, huh," she says. It isn't really a question.

"Yeah," he says. "It's definitely something. You're not gonna be gone when I wake up, are you?"

She pushes up on one elbow. "Why the hell would you say that?"

"Just a feeling," he says. "Felt like a memory."

She pauses. "I'll be here."

"Good," he says. "Sorry, baby, but I'm about to fall asleep. That was quite the workout."

"I don't know where you get off asking me that, Adama. It's my goddamn apartment," she says, snuggling back down.

"I know," he says.

"You're in my world now," she says. "Don't forget it." Her voice is low and quiet and he kisses the top of her head.

"I couldn't forget if I tried," he says, and his eyes drift closed.


End file.
